


Lesson Learned

by TulipaNegra



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, POV The Doctor (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7127020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TulipaNegra/pseuds/TulipaNegra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha says goodbye, and the Doctor's hearts break.</p><p>(Friendship, but can be viewed as romantic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesson Learned

**Author's Note:**

> I should be studying, not editing stuff my brain came up with on a melancholy Sunday afternoon. I blame David Tennant's and Freema Agyeman's fantastic acting skills for this one.

He’s waiting, seemingly relaxed on the jump seat, feet propped up on the console. The only thing giving away the uneasy feeling eating him up is the incessant tapping of one fοοt, perched as it is over the other. He has a nudging feeling, that’s elbowing him out of his calm as the moments of her absence stretch. What if she doesn’t come?

_Nah, don’t be thick. ‘Course she’ll come. She loves it._

The TARDIS door opens, and Martha finally walks in. He merely gets a glance of her studiously set face, and he jumps up, full of energy.

“Right then, off we go, the open road!”, he shouts, moving around the console, a feeling he can’t really describe washing over him. He hears her uncharacteristically slow, measured steps. “There is a burst of star fire right now off the coast of Metasigmafolia.” Relief. It must be relief. Relief that she’s here. “Oh, the sky is like… oil on water.” It can’t be. It can’t be relief. With each passing moment, it feels more and more like dread. He doubles his energy, refusing to give into his childish fears. “Fancy that? Or, back in time. We could… I don’t know!” But her face… Her melancholy face, set with an indulgent smile, as if basking in the final moments of something she’ll miss. “Charles II? Henry VIII! I know!” His hearts beat faster, as the dread settles in. He smiles brilliantly. “What about Agatha Christie? I’d love to meet Agatha Christie, I bet she’s brilliant.”

His voice falters. He stops. He cannot ignore her face any longer. He understands. By Rassilon, he understands. He’s not even surprised. It doesn’t hurt any less, though.

“Okay.”

He only vaguely wonders why it took her so long. He suddenly realises what an idiot he’s been. Self-centred, and disrespectful, and oblivious to how truly brilliant she is.

“I just can’t.” That’s all she says. It’s a million times worst than all the shouting, all the accusing, all the anger he deserves. But she never would, and he knows it.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve spent all these years training to be a doctor, now I’ve got people to look after.”

She no longer needs him. He’s instantly ashamed of the thought, and he can’t bear to look at her. He lowers his eyes. She never needed him. His amazing Martha.

“I saw half the planet slaughtered, and they’re devastated. I can’t leave them.”

It hurts. Her excuses make it worse.

“‘Course.”

Rassilon, he’ll miss her. He drinks her in, committing to memory every detail. Her face, her extraordinary strength and perseverance, her willpower, her independence.

He cracks a smile. And so does she.

“Thank you.”

He hopes it’s enough. He hugs her. As he lets go and steps back, another small piece of him dies, like oh so many times before. How can he keep doing this? Will it ever get any better? Will it ever stop hurting?

“Martha Jones, you saved the world.”

“Yes, I did. I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best, but you know what? I am good.”

The best. She’s the best. And all he’s ever told her is ‘Rose this, and Rose that’. He’s been a humungous fool. He giggles. There’s nothing else he can do now. He’s been so egotistical, always disregarding Martha and her feelings, there is nothing he can do to salvage the situation.

“You gonna be all right?”

“Always am.”

She shouldn’t worry about him. She should leave completely free, to live her life as beautifully as she deserves.

“Bye.”

A quick kiss on the cheek. His hearts race. Once again, it’s the end. How many more endings are there in store for him?

He messed this up. Royally. Too late did he see her worth, her brilliance. And now she’s gone, along with the rest. And, this time, he has no one to blame but himself.

He hears the door open and close again. He turns, hope blooming unbidden in his chest.

On and on she goes about her friend, and with each word, he feels the shame of his unforgivable behaviour sting him relentlessly.

“So this is me getting out.”

Remorse floods his very being. But it is too late to chase the shame away, too late to make a difference.

He catches her phone, and promises to come whenever she calls. It’s the least he can do. He owes her that much.

Seeing her striding to the TARDIS doors, ready for whatever life brings her next, he’s so happy for her. And immeasurably sad.

It’s just him and the TARDIS again. It feels like, in the end, it’s always just him and the TARDIS. And no matter how much he hopes, no one stays forever.

He takes off, hearts weary, and soul old, wondering how he still manages to go on. Will there come a time when he’ll be too tired, too lonely, too cynical to bother?

The Last of the Time Lords has never been a heavier title to bear.


End file.
